


That Was You

by Witchy_Willow



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 17:24:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witchy_Willow/pseuds/Witchy_Willow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bait shouldn't look that good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Was You

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not mine nor has it ever been. If it was… well then I wouldn’t have such a crappy day job and spend my nights writing fan fiction.
> 
> A/N: I could say I don’t know why, but it would be a filthy lie. I was stuck on the FMA fan fic I should be writing and trolling around on Grimm Kink. This devious plot bunny jumped up and bit me after a read an old prompt about Nick as a Callboy. This is my first non anime fic – interesting.
> 
> This is set pre-show… sort of. If something is horribly misspelled – let me know. I gladly take editing suggestions. Believe me it bugs me too.
> 
> I love reviews if you have a moment.

That was you!

 

 

Today was a difficult day. 

 

Not that it was anything new for Monroe.  Ever since he had decided to discard the traditional Blutbad life of blood, hunting under moonlit skies, and devouring small, fluffy woodland critters raw for his Wieder Blutbaden lifestyle, difficult took on a whole new meaning.  Every day was a battle against his natural inborn instincts.  A continual test against his better judgment and common sense. 

 

Even if that common sense said that the little girl that passed his house _every_ morning on her way to school in a red overcoat was fair game.

 

The shift in lifestyle was his choice.  No one forced his hand despite his parents not-too-subtle urging about getting “corrected”.  No normal Blutbad volunteered to switch to vegan.  And yet he did.  It was a decision that he had not made lightly and he was truly satisfied with it despite the fact that he was technically disowned.  He was only allowed near his family once a year when the entire family got together to see who was alive.

 

He was reformed – civilized.  But on some days… oh, to surrender to those wild instincts.  On nights when the moon was full and high in the sky the woods across the street beckoned to him.  He’d love to run.  Just for a little while.  Then right back on the Wieder bandwagon.

 

Right?

 

Monroe shook his head to preempt the desire to woge.  He couldn’t entertain such thoughts.  That’s how good Wesen fell off the Wieder bandwagon and ran down more instinctual paths.  Another wave of passed over him as he passed a garish window display of brilliant red hearts proclaiming St. Valentine’s Day.  He forced the feeling of claws in his hands and sharpened teeth in his mouth to return to normal.  He snorted rudely at the display.  Why, oh why did red have to be the color for Valentine’s Day?  And why wasn’t it March?  So everything could be Irish and green instead of red.

 

A set of high school girls mooned over the sweet teddy bears and jewelry in the window.  Each proclaiming what they would get from their adolescent, immature boyfriend who was more interested in seeing their boobs.  And who would probably forget to get them anything until the morning of the fourteenth.  It was stupid he told himself.  All of… this.  First of all, a real “teddy bear” would rip their throats out and smell moldy.  Bears always did.  There was nothing cute or cuddly about them at all.  And a Jagerbar?

 

Forget it.

 

And historically?  The original St. Valentine’s Day had a purpose for its flashy red color as the streets ran red with fresh blood from a mob massacre.

 

Oh, that wasn’t helping.

 

He carded shaking hands through his unruly brown hair trying desperately to grasp control.  He couldn’t wolf out on the street.  Not in broad daylight with all of Portland to see.

 

Not when he had been doing so well as a reformed Blutbad.

 

Ducking into a shadowed alley he took in slow calming breaths.  Just in and out.  Focus on the acrid scent of yesterday refuse.  Dear god it was awful.  Day old garbage never took on a perfumed scent but it was the acidic tang of vomit that colored this alley so well.  It made the memory of warm blood, coating his mouth with its coppery flavor.  It’s sweet tang invading his senses…

 

Nope the vomit won. 

 

The memory was too old to have a stronger hold than the fresh scent of bile.  The world ceased to be shaded red as his eyes shifting back to their boring brown shade.  He felt the last of his instincts release him.  All thanks to a rather nasty alleyway.  As gross as it sounded he almost wanted to bottle the scent.

 

He looked up to see what the building was.  To see what building would have so many people retching up their last meals.  It was a small nondescript, brick facade bar with the word “Pub” written in green neon.  All of its windows tightly drawn against the late afternoon sun.

 

Monroe took a last glance over his shoulder to the girls now a block behind him still cooing over the clearly mind-altering display. 

 

Yeah, he could use a drink.  Or three.

 

A quick stop had become a prolonged engagement.  Inside the pub, Monroe had stumbled across a small crew of college aged Lausenschlangen looking for fellow creatures to party with.  Apparently, Valentine’s Day hadn’t been kind on them either.  While this was not the type of crowd that Monroe would normally join, the mutual hatred of the lovey-dovey holiday made him feel welcomed.  After a few beers and some well timed quips about a Mauseherz he used to… oh who was he kidding, bully, Monroe was officially one of the guys.  They even kindly bought the rest of the rounds.

 

The camaraderie was working for him.  In small ways he missed the companionship.  The way he could call up Hap at a moment’s notice or run wild with Angelina.  Now he was alone.  But the brief bonding helped ease the constriction of loneliness.  He left the pub feeling better and also glad that he had several orders of onion rings to go with the beers.  Otherwise he feared he might have added to that alley. 

 

His beloved yellow bug was parked a few blocks over so the short walk would sober him up perfectly. The route along the street took him pass more boisterous displays of red and pink.  Monroe delighted in the revelation that it wasn’t so bad.  Despite the displays’ best effort to be lit by searchlights ensuring it to be noticed against its dark surroundings, the urge wasn’t as strong now. 

 

Until a small flash of red against a pale throat drew his attention.

 

And he’d been doing so well.

 

Leaning against the wall of a trendy bar called “Shots” with his hands stuffed into the pockets of a leather jacket concealing a blood red shirt was something tempting.  He was cast in the glow of pink neon and directly in Monroe’s path.  Monroe hesitated for a moment wondering if it would be wiser to backtrack and cross the street.

 

He’d tested his will enough today.

 

Indecision reigned over Monroe’s mind as he wondered what to do about this.  Standing beside a newspaper dispenser, he watched the dark-haired young man for a moment as someone approached.  Monroe watched the slight exchange for a moment before his temptation gave off an easy, inviting smile.  It was cloying; sickly sweet and it made Monroe want to whimper.  Then the other walked away entering the bar.  Said temptation frowned, pulling rather full lips down before parting slightly to release a sigh of frustration. 

 

A small growl formed in his throat and Monroe swallowed it down before it could make itself known.

 

The young man pushed himself off the wall for a moment to stretch his lithe figure before assuming his former pose.  He ran a hand through his dark hair ruffling it so that it fit that bed head style that Monroe wondered at.  He checked his wristwatch and stifled a yawn before watching for more passersby. 

 

That inviting smile finding its way to his face one more.

 

It suddenly struck Monroe dumb.  This tasty little thing was selling himself.

 

_Holy crap!_

 

The wolf inside grinned.  It was near Valentine’s Day – who said Monroe had to forgo companionship?  True, the thought of paying for such a thing was in poor taste but… oh dear.  His will was frayed and this young man wearing away at the last of it. 

 

He shouldn’t.  He knew, but he was walking directly towards him before his mind processed the thought.  As he neared, he could see dark lashes framing big grey doe-eyes.  Oh, he was prey that Monroe could have and still obey his Wieder lifestyle. 

 

No need to fall off the bandwagon _at all_.

 

The wind shifted slightly sending the young man’s scent downwind towards Monroe.  It was beyond enticing.  Soft with an earthy undertone that wasn’t masked by cologne.  A thrill ran through Monroe.  He’d always hated cologne.  Alcoholic at its base and, oh, so artificial.  It ruined perfectly delectable natural scents.  He drew in another breath to decipher more off the young man.

 

He was human – there was no doubt, but something made him hesitate once more.  It was slight.  Only a Blutbad would have noticed it.  The scent of well oiled leather, metal, and gunpowder.  And fast food – lots of fast food.

 

The same cold realization struck him once more. 

 

This morsel was bait. 

 

An enticing distraction to be certain but a cop.  A cop looking to bust would be “Johns”.

 

And how unfortunate was that?  The urge to both growl at the tempting cop and whimper at the pretty young man was rather confusing.  Warring states of the mind wasn’t something Monroe relished.  Being Wieder Blutbaden was confusing enough on a daily basis.

 

He left out a silent huff of disappointment.  So it was all alone after all.

 

Monroe walked right past him making eye contact for but a moment.  A quick flash of understanding to convey that Monroe knew the undercover cop was posing.  Something that the attractive young man caught, letting his come-hither smile falter for a second.

 

\---WW---

 

Nick was leaning against the wall of George’s restaurant scanning the street for Monroe.  It was the first time he could recall being early to a meeting.  Usually _something_ happened and he was late – okay, he was habitually late.  But today he was early and a grin split his lips as he tried to think of something smart to say when Monroe arrived.

 

Monroe watched Nick for a moment as the memory replayed of the tasty little cop posing as a prostitute that night when his mind and will were frayed.  Nick was standing in the exact same pose.  Smiling that same infuriatingly enticing smile of his.

 

How could he have not seen it?

 

All this time – right in front of him.

 

The words were out before he could process, “That was you!”

 

Nick turned at Monroe’s outburst as confusion decorating his face nicely.  “What?”

 

“I remember now.  It was, like, I don’t know, five years ago?”

 

Nick scrunched up his face as if trying to understand what had the Blutbad so riled up.  All thoughts of some smart quip were erased.  “Five years ago?  I didn’t know you then.”

 

Monroe was rolled his eyes at the detective’s lack of awareness before nodding his head in the affirmative.  “No, on the street in front of – well… it was called Shots then.  I think its 241 now or something.  Not important, man.  The point is that was you.”

 

Understanding dawned on Nick for a moment.  Five years ago he was working patrol when Vice approached him asking about undercover work.  It was a great gateway into detective work so he had accepted.  He ended up posing as a male prostitute for about six months before regulars started taking note that he was a cop.  And once your cover was blown that was all she wrote. 

 

He had been good at it.  Busting up to near record breaking eleven guys in one night.  A record that was still held by a now 54 year old Rochelle Williams who worked in Sex Crimes.  Back in her twenties, she could barely walk a block before catch a new “buyer”.  It was awe inspiring for Vice.

 

Still Nick didn’t have the foggiest of clues as to why Monroe cared so much.  Unless, “I worked Vice five years ago.”  A smirk crept across his face at the thought, “Did I bust you?”

 

Monroe colored a deep crimson before, “No, I could smell cop on you.”

 

Nick’s small smirk widened into a know-it-all grin at the unspoken question of why Monroe would remember a cop posing as a male prostitute.  While entertaining, Nick let it go.  He raised an eyebrow while staring poignantly at Monroe in a silent look of ‘so’? 

 

“It was you, right?”

 

Nick let out an easy laugh and shrugged his shoulders, “Probably.”


End file.
